Sassy B-Words

New Yorkers are cynical of the people around them. Maybe it's not just a New Yorker thing, but it sure seems like a more widespread problem up here. If someone doesn't smile enough, they're timid and anxious. If someone smiles too much, they're fake and naive. If someone is quiet, they're insecure and boring. If someone talks too much, they're immature and annoying. If someone is young, they're incapable and unrelatable. If someone is old, they're jaded and past their prime.

UGH.

This judgy attitude that precedes any form of worthwhile interaction makes me tired. And sad. When I was in college, I didn't run with a particularly gossipy group. I trusted all of my friends to bring any issues to the forefront, and they did (though issues rarely surfaced). But now, here in what is supposed to be "mature adulthood," I have witnessed far most scrutiny about people's "friends" when their backs are turned than I did in college. Don't get me wrong, my New York friends are great, and most New Yorkers are more loyal friends than I've ever seen, but their attitudes towards acquaintances and those they don't consider "close" friends are sour. This is particularly true in the restaurant world.

I was recently told that another server at work said that I "talk too much." My reaction? Truly, I'd rather that be the complaint about me than any of the remarks I hear about other people. Besides, I do talk a lot. Too much? Eh, that's up for discussion. I've mentioned this comment to a few friends who have all assured me that I don't talk an annoying amount at all, and that it's just become popular to be a "sassy b****" (that's actually the PG version of the real name my friend gave to the overly sarcastic and Eor-type characters that flood this town). Still, I think to myself, why does something negative have to be said about everyone? I mean it when I say that if "talking too much" is all that's being passed around about me, I'm thrilled. But how sad is that? Why should negative energy be so prevalent in my environment that I'm grateful for the way my feelings were hurt? That it's bound to happen, so at least they're not saying anything worse.

No. This is an epidemic that we shouldn't just accept and get used to because sarcasm and rude-but-witty humor is popular. I'm 24, happy with myself, and a generally forgiving person, so I can handle a comment made by someone I've worked with no more than five times. Maybe he had a hangover one day when I was telling a story and my enthusiasm gave him a headache. I don't know. But what he says doesn't bother me to the point that I'm insecure about who I am. I like to interact with people and that will not change just because a cynical New Yorker thinks I'm too peppy. However, not everyone is me. Middle schoolers are probably not able to shake off a rude remark so easily. Neither is a person who has self-esteem issues or an extremely sensitive personality.

This "sassy b****" idea has trickled down to youth, causing outrageous bullying in schools. It has seeped into workplaces, making everyone feel self-concious. It has poisoned relationships and threatened friendships. Thus, it is every single person's responsibility to never make anyone else feel hurt or bad about themselves. This doesn't mean you will get along with everyone, nor does it mean that everyone will deserve the best treatment. However, the guy you think is too serious may have grown up with braces, not wanting to smile. The new girl at work who seems shy may be hilarious and brighter than you think. The older guy with an intimidating weariness may be the most kind-hearted man in the room. The ex-pageant girl who seems fake might actually have a gigantic heart. Focusing on the things you like about a person along with searching for the peices you dont yet know will not only save you a lot of stress (because being a sassy b**** can be stressful), but get you a lot more friends. And if you just don't particularly like somone at the end of the day, how will saying something mean about them change that? May as well keep it to yourself. Gossip doesn't help you, the person you're gossiping about, or the people you're gossping with.

I've fallen into the trap before. Pre-judging someone, saying something mean when I'm annoyed, or delivering a snappy one-liner at the expense of someone else. No one is perfect. But us "mature adults" need to step back at times and re-evaluate the energy we're bringing to the world. We don't have teachers and parents telling us that our behavior is wrong, so our only reminders are those moments we're on the other side (i.e. when you hear that someone said you talk too much). We all know how it feels to be talked about, no matter how insignificant or serious the comment. Thus, my goal is to be more careful about any remark, flighty or purposeful, I make regarding someone else- no matter if I like, respect, or care for them. Because at the end of the day, negative thoughts and remarks have absolutely zero value.

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I haven't mentioned what I've been up to in a while, so here are some picture snippets:

 

Emily came to town!

A bunch of friends came to hear me sing in a showcase

Tommy's birthday brunch

Girls night with Mallory (Miss NY 2012)

Opening night at Carnegie Hall (Chicago Symphony)

Songs for a New World reunion!

Saw "Bring it On: The Musical"

Martini night with Katie (Miss Manhattan) and Elizabeth (Miss VA 2011)

On the Other Side

Those of us who pride ourselves in having social prowess, or even just average on the social awareness scale, have been trained in the appropriate reactions to certain scenarios. For instance, a friend gets a promotion: celebrate! A sibling gets married: drink! A coworker gets sick: text them and tell them to feel better. A puppy gets hit by the car: gasp, be sad. A scary man approaches you in the subway: run or kick his, uh, pain center (as my 9-year-old brother would say). I'll admit, I'm pretty great at knowing what my reactions should be to most situations. But there exist scenarios towards which most of us never want to find out how we'd react. These are the scenarios that define our character. None of us want to know what it'd be like to be evicted from our home, lose a limb, or never see our family again. Yet, only under these extreme circumstances is the truth revealed about what we value within ourselves and on whom/what we depend on for happiness. Under these circumstances, we find out if we are capable of making positive choices when it's not easy, like ourselves enough to keep moving forward, and have surrounded ourselves with people we are honored to call friends. The thought of finding out all of those things about ourselves at once is scary, but for me, I'm glad I have.

After my mom died on Labor Day, 4 1/2 weeks ago, I kept waiting for some terrible reaction. Anger at God, outlash towards my friends, depression keeping me in bed, something. Part of me is still expecting to wake up one day and be a completely changed person. But as the days go on and I'm still me, still laughing all the time, still getting annoyed with needy tables at work, still wanting to lose five pounds, I'm beginning to think that this is simply how it's going to be. I'm reacting to losing my mom by not reacting. Don't get me wrong, I miss her every single day and have had moments of deep pain when I want to call her, but my reaction is certainly not as I imagined. Perhaps not even appropriate at times. But what is appropriate? No mother/daughter could have had a more functional, deep, and intensly close-knit relationship than my mom and me. Many of my friends have even commented that they wish they had the kind of relationship I shared with my mom with their own. So does that mean I shouldn't be able to eat, sleep, or function? Maybe. But I've had a completely different reaction to losing my mom than "My life will never be the same and I'll never be okay." Instead, I've found an unbelievable amount of comfort about who I am and who my mother raised me to be. Because of this experience, I have absolutely no question about what I am capable of handling, where I find peace, or if I'm the person I truly want to be.

I was pretty sure I liked who I was before I knew my mom was going to die. But as the weeks and days crept closer to the final breath of her life, I was terrified. I was terrified of what I would do, how I would feel, and if my life would be bearable. Everyone kept telling me, "Just react however you react, there's no right way." But what if I wanted to jump off a bridge?? What if I wanted to starve myself?? What if I wanted to eat eight chocolate cakes a night?? What if I didn't want to see the rest of my family anymore?? What if I started hating God?? What if I want to drink every single night?? What if, what if, what if??? Those what if's showed that even though I didn't often question my self-confidence, my friends, or the goodness at my core before all of this, I certainly had never had all of what makes me ME put to the test before. Not all at once. Not to this extensive of a test. Was I actually the person I thought I was?

I'll never say I'm happy my mom died. That'd be legitmately inappropriate (and false). But she did, she is with God, and I am still here. More than that, though there's not really anything more than being with God (that's pretty awesome), but for me- more than simply still being here, I am prouder of the woman I am than I have ever been before. Everything about who I am was put to the test to see if I would come out on the other side not only okay, but great. How can I not be great when I know my mom is in heaven? When I know she lived a happy, fulfilled life. When I know that I learned from her so much that will lead me through my own life. When my best friends took off of work to be at the funeral and/or clean out my childhood bedroom. When my coworkers gave me over $1000 out of pocket to cover the shifts I missed. When cards, messages, and phone calls flooded in. When the family my mom left behind is closer than ever. When I didn't react with hate towards God, instead with trust in plans greater than I understand. When I still love to love other people. When I'm still goofy, open-minded, and excited about what lies ahead.

I'm truly glad to be me, knowing that under even the most difficult and heart-wrenching of circumstances, I will be more than okay. I'll come out even stronger. My mom was always that way, too. I am so thrilled to live the rest of my life in her legacy, doing everything I can to make her proud and to remember why she was so proud of me.

With my amazing friends celebrating my mom the night of her memorial service

Mom

I've had a few people ask me to send them the eulogy I read at my mom's funeral last week, so I thought I'd share it with everyone in hopes that we can all remember how truly amazing she was:

Many people say that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I think it’s safe to say that in this situation, that is not the case. We didn’t have to wait until my mom left us to recognize her extraordinary faith, genuine charm, breathtaking beauty, and selfless heart. My mom’s ability to light up her patients’ classrooms, our home, her offices, and her church was undeniable. Everywhere she went, she was easy to love. Not just because she was so incredibly pretty to look at and easy to talk to, but because her number one motivation and joy in life was her relationship with God. With a faith so strong, God’s light could be seen through her without her even needing to mention His name…though she did that often, too. Even during the last weeks, as we watched the unthinkable unfold before us, my mom’s unending belief in God’s unfailing love gave not only her complete peace, but those of us who love her so dearly. Her faith was her biggest gift to all of us and allows us to celebrate her life in trust she is with her precious Father, rather than mourn a concrete ending.

Mom fixing my gown the night before I left to compete at Miss VA

That being said, my mom’s time here was truly something to celebrate. I could talk about her adventures skiing in Vermont, riding elephants in Sri Lanka, climbing the ancient Pyramids in Egypt and Mount Fuji in Japan, or parasailing in Thailand, but instead I’m going to celebrate the time she spent in life as my and Jim’s mother. And I can say confidently that it was her favorite time in life. Mom said that the moment she held Jim in her arms 26 years ago, she had never been so happy and in love. Eighteen months later, I arrived and she embraced being the most giving and energetic mother to both of us. Recently, she so beautifully explained to Jim that when you have more than one child, your love does not divide, it multiplies. Her unconditional devotion to raising us as confident and happy children manifested itself in outrageously time consuming homemade birthday cakes, Halloween costumes, and mother/daughter matching dresses on Easter. She was an amazing sewer- she even made my prom dress from scratch.

Jim's wedding

Fast-forwarding through the terrifying years of raising two teenagers (I don’t know how she still loved us after those ones, but she was a woman of true strength), my brother and I have both been able to get to know my mom as adults in the last few years. Jim and my mom would spend every single Saturday morning that he was home from college, Richmond, or New York together, drinking coffee on the porch and discussing God, life, and, as Jim often reminded me- how to help Shannon survive in the world. She came to New York for Thanksgiving last year and taught Jim’s wife, Lindsay, how to make a Turkey and we all ran the five miler Turkey Trot as a family.  My mom was the only one in good enough shape to not be sore the next day. Jim got married in April, and my mom couldn’t have been prouder as she watched her perfect son marry a woman he loves so deeply. She and Jim took dance lessons to prepare for their dance at the wedding and, through the chemotherapy, exuded radiance as she celebrated in Jim’s happiness.

Turkey Trot 2011

In my life, my mom has been my rock. She and I have always been close, and for these 24 years I could not be more grateful. My mom knew my heart in a way no one ever will. For instance, she sent me dog sledding for a week in negative 20 degrees with ten people I’d never met when I was going through my first real heartbreak, teaching me that stepping out of your comfort zone and pushing your limits will always bring life back into perspective. She supported all of my crazy endeavors, from pageantry to horseback riding to musical theatre. My mom had stage fright and she hated horses. Yet she came to every single one of my pageants, bought a horse when I was in middle school, and could name most Broadway musicals. Pageants, in particular, she even got really into. I remember always having to hide programs in my house from any pageant friends who would come over because I didn’t want them to see all of the scores my mom would write next to each girl’s picture. I always got 10s. My mom and I talked nearly every single day in my young adulthood, and only my mom will ever actually enjoy listening to me go on and on about my feelings as much as I did. She also loved listening to Jim and I sing more than anyone else in the world. She never got sick of it. We sang to her nonstop the day she passed and eventually sent her off to meet God with our voices.

These 24 years, and 26 for Jim, with the best mother on earth are more valuable than a lifetime with anyone else. We will miss her so, so much. Her times of excitement when she’d practically jump up and down and clap with her giant smile, her times of advice-giving when she’d always end up saying “I just want you to be happy,” her serene face during her daily run through the neighborhood, and her tremendous example of living as a woman of God. But I know she is with Him, celebrating, running on streets paved with gold, and watching over us as one of God’s witnesses.
  
Proverbs 31:28, The wife of noble character
28 Her children arise and call her blessed;
    her husband also, and he praises her:
29 “Many women do noble things,
    but you surpass them all.”
30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
    but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
31 Honor her for all that her hands have done,
    and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

How honored I am to have called Kathy my mom.

 

 

To Be Chosen. Or Mostly Not.

There’s something to be said about being chosen.  It starts in elementary school. Well, probably before then, but elementary school is really where it starts  becoming clear if you’ll be one of those “chosen” people in life, or if you’ll be like the rest of us. I’m saying “the rest of us” like we’re a club because it almost makes me feel like I was chosen to be part of that kind-of-depressing-group. Coping mechanism. You see, I wasn’t chosen by Kyle, the cute blonde boy in first grade that I had a crush on (I never went through the boys have cooties stage. And I’m STILL single. This has been a longggg 18 years). He chose a different girl to share pens with, even though I helped him to the nurse when a door swung open and gave him a bloody nose. Then I auditioned for my first musical at age 7: The Wiz at San Diego Junior Theatre. They called back seven kids- I was one of them- out of hundreds who auditioned to be the munchkins (clearly, they were not going for a big cast). Six kids got the parts. You can guess who didn’t make the cut. A year later I moved to Virginia. Between the age of 8 and 12, I did over fifteen musicals with my children’s theatre. FIFTEEN. My poor mother drove me to all of those rehearsals to play what part, you might ask? Townsperson. Random orphan. Townsperson. Dancing barrel. Townsperson. Was I ever little orphan Annie? Nope. I was her understudy. Was I the princess in The Emperor’s New Clothes? Nope. I was her understudy. Was I the Narrator in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat? Nope. I was one of five girls who got called back, and they decided to split the role four ways. FOUR. Guess who, once again, got the boot? I’ll get over it. Mind you, I did get to play the role 11 years later at a different theatre when I was 22 years old...but come ON. Though I’m sure you get the point by now, I’ll give one- okay two- more examples of not being chosen in my childhood. I ran for class council every single year I was eligible. Fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh grade. Never happened. Also, the popular boy in fifth grade dated me as a dare. When I found out, I hid in the bathroom…I really thought he wanted to “go out with me.” But that one I can let slide since he’s now unfortunate looking and has no job.  Thank you Facebook for not making us wait until high school reunions to become secretly happy that the mean kids have digressed in life.

Now that I’ve written a paragraph that any psychologist would be thrilled to dissect, I’ll get to my point. Being chosen feels good. Whether it’s by a man (or woman) who wants to date you, someone who wants to befriend you, a director who wants to cast you, or a boss who wants to promote you, being chosen feels so darn good. I don’t care what excuses we listen to from our own self-preserving minds or the mouths of others, we’d all rather be chosen than convince ourselves that “he wasn’t in the right place in life to be with me” or “I was just overqualified for the job.” No. At the end of the day, you wish he’d told you that you were the girl who he’ll turn his world upside down for or that the director had created a brand new show revolving around your undiscovered talent. Yet, for most of us, these things don’t happen. At least not often. Perhaps ever.

GOOD NEWS. You can get better at not being chosen. Practice makes perfect. I’m a pro. I should seriously teach lessons for $40/hour on how to handle rejection. Adulthood is pretty much the same story as that paragraph about my childhood woes. Just sub the fake 5th grade boyfriend with men who choose someone over me or come up with some other awesome reason why we shouldn’t be serious, replace the theatre rejections with…wait, still the same thing, and swap running for class council with competing to be Miss Virginia/Miss New York. But somehow, the world keeps turning. You come to find that with each rejection, instead of the world ending, you still crave Chipotle just like before and that Modern Family makes you laugh. Then out of the blue you’re chosen for one small thing, and you appreciate it so much more than if being chosen was always a given. You’re so grateful for that one token of acknowledgement of what you have to offer that you become more determined to develop even more to offer, more to be acknowledged. Because you’re working on yourself, you inevitably become a better person. As you’re able to offer more- you’ve taken more voice lessons, worked on your patience, developed your purpose- you begin to see how you are and have been chosen.

I was chosen as the youngest member of Falcon Jazz, our school’s prestigious octet, in high school. I was chosen as a lead in my first ever regional theatre production straight out of college. I was chosen by my sorority and by the a cappella group. I was chosen to work at my restaurant even though I lacked the necessary experience. I was chosen to be a singer at Busch Gardens. I am chosen by my family. Yes, you may think that’s obligation on their parts, but some children are not so lucky to feel chosen and loved by their families. I am chosen by my friends who call and text me constantly to ask me about my life and tribulations.  The more you TRY and see how much you’re chosen, the more you see that you ARE. I’d still love to have a guy sweep me off my feet for the long haul or to be cast as the leading lady in a Broadway show, but when I think about how my friends make me laugh and check up on me daily, how my family calls to say they love me, and how my boss forgives me when I break the cork of a wine bottle, I am not as concerned with what ways I have not been chosen.

It’s hard to feel rejected. I’m not undermining that feeling. But the more it happens, the more you learn that a shift in your perspective can change everything. Each time you’re not chosen, you get better at making that shift. Isn’t that how it works with most challenges in life? You just need a simple shift in perspective. And plenty of practice.

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PS- I hit my ONE YEAR in NYC mark last Friday. How insane is that? I had a mini celebration:

Dating Panel

We don't think about the exact "hows" of most of our actions in life. I don't think about how I brush my hair- I just do it every morning. I don't think about how to walk down the stairs- I simply go down them. I don't think about how to start a conversation with my friends- I just open my mouth. I also have never thought about how to form a connection or be socially comfortable with the opposite sex. Chemistry between two people just happens without explanation, right? Well, apparently not for everyone.

Most of us are aware that there is an abundance of socially awkward individuals on this planet. I'm not claiming to never be a part of that group. As a matter of fact, I think all of us are awkward at times or in certain social scenarios. However, I'm talking about the group of men (and women...but I'm focusing on men in this blog) that have literally never set foot in public with a female. This includes their sisters, coworkers, or any female excluding their mothers. You don't think those men exist? That there are guys who have never been out with any woman one on one, even a cousin? Think again. Last Saturday, I was in a room with 40 of them.

That's a lie, probably only 15 didn't raise their hand when the dating coach asked, "Who has been in public with any female around your age? Coworker, sister, whatever." None-the-less, my heart went out to these men. Not in an "Oh, I feel sorry for these lesser beings" kind of way, but in a way that made me sad that they are not naturally able to show the world who they are- the great guys beneath the surface of those who are shy, who have been shut down, who have put books in front of conversations, and who are told by society that they do not look the way women want them to (i.e. tall, dark, and handsome).

Me, Mallory, and Acacia at the dating seminar

But the good news is that they want to work through whatever issues hold them back from interacting easily, or at all, with women. And luckily, since there is such a market for help in the hows of socializing with the opposite sex, they can find dating coaches to break it down for them. This sets the scene for the dating seminar at which myself, Mallory (Miss New York 2012), and Acacia (my roommate during Miss New York week) were guest panelists. After a 30-40 minute lecture by a successful dating coach focusing on how to approach women, the three of us were asked to sit at a table in front of the room and answer questions about dating. Choosing MAO pageant ladies to be panelists was a bright idea by the dating coaches, might I add, since all of those pageant interviews allow us to be queens (hah) of animated verbalization and honest answers, yet we tend to be very polite and caring about how those answers may affect our listeners.

I wasn't sure what kind of questions to expect, but we certainly received a wide range. There were bitter questions like, "Girls like you three are always rude to me at bars. Is it because you care more about physical attraction?", genuine questions like "How do you follow up after a first date?", and awkward questions like "What's your age range that you'd date?" To the first question: What separates friendships from relationships? Physical attraction. But that doesn't mean you have to look a certain way. It means you have to be hygienic and confident. I'm pretty sure those are the only two things many (not all) girls care about. But Mal made a good point- if you approach a woman with a bitter attitude like she'll reject you because she's "too pretty and must be stuck up," then you're begging for a self-fulfilled prophecy. Second question: You have to have the social awareness to understand how the girl felt on the date in order to know how you should follow up. Don't call that night, but don't wait two weeks. Somewhere in between. Third question: I'm 24 with a dad who is 55, so guys in their 20's and 30's are fair game. Mal is 23, but her dad is 42. Dating a guy in his 30's would put him closer to her father's age than hers. Weird. Acacia is 19. She will not be dating anyone in his 30's.

All of these questions would be irrelevant, however, if these men would find confidence somewhere within themselves. Confidence, true- not contrived- confidence, is the one quality that attracts all women. Yet this was the common link missing among all of the men in that room. They have to break down the hows of dating and talking to women because they don't trust that they are awesome to talk to or be around. Well, how do you instill confidence into men and convince them that they're awesome to be around when they've spent 10-20 years believing the opposite? Mal, Acacia, and I tried to show them that being a suave smooth robot isn't what women want. Look at the three of us! We are vastly different ladies- completely contrasting looks, mannerisms, opinions, and speaking styles. Yet the men were boxing us into one category: "girls like you." We tried to explain that clearly the three of us are different, so why should all of them be so concerned with being one "perfect" type themselves? If I tried to be a suave smooth girl, I'd look ridiculous. I am clumsy, make funny faces, and am constantly sarcastic. No one would like me if I tried to hide those things about myself and be the calm, cool, and sexy girl that is idolized in magazines or on T.V. These guys just need to realize that there is no one type that women find attractive! It's the comfort someone has with being themselves that pulls us in. If you're at ease with you, we feel at ease with you.

Clearly, I'm no expert, but I had a really great time working with men on their abilities to trust themselves and get past the fears they have about talking to women. I hope that through their interactions with Mallory, Acacia, and myself that their minds are at least somewhat changed about themselves, "girls like us," and what women find attractive. Sure, some of them probably need a few more lessons from a coach on the exact hows of interaction, but we all have our strengths and weaknesses. I need a how to cook show as bad as these guys need a how to date seminar. It's just life! More power to them for being proactive.

Theme Parties

The ladies

Theme parties may be associated with college years, but I had no shortage of them this weekend. I think it's healthy to dress up in 80's fashion once in a while. Reminds you why you're so glad to be living in the here and now...

To celebrate a coworker's 30th birthday on Saturday night, we all headed to St. Andrew's Pub in Times Square, decked out in attire of the decade he was born (80's). I decided to embrace the saying "you'll never see these people again" while sitting on the train in my neon yellow skirt and matching tank top, pink lipstick, and leggings. I simply tried not to make eye contact with anyone, though I think I noticed a few questioning glances from my peripheral view. Whatever. It's New York City. People probably thought that I dress like that every day. Anyways, the party was great and I danced my heart out to "Shot Through the Heart" and "Don't Stop Believing," managing to only knock over one drink (naturally) and getting a single BBQ stain on my shirt. Not a terrible list of party fouls, considering the capabilities of my clumsiness. Unfortunately, I had to work this morning, so I headed home before I could cause any more damage to my shirt or the pub's glassware.

One night earlier, I attended yet another theme party to kick off the 2012 Summer Olympic Games! I don't think I could love anything more than an Olympics party, especially considering it was with just a select few of my favorite people in the world: Jim, Lindsay, Tess, and three of Jim's friends that I adore. I get so excited to see the whole world come together, highlighting young people who embody discipline and patriotism. Obviously with my platform in the Miss America Organization being Cultural Togetherness and my founding of the diversity awareness program at CNU, seeing so many nations come together gets me all warm inside.

Well, I better hit the sack since I work a double tomorrow. Tonight I watched "Mulan," painted my nails, and turned on the Olympics while writing this...so, you see, it's not all theme parties and reunions for me. My grandma side is still intact and welcomes these quiet nights at home. Until next time!

642, #2: College Essay

I've had quite the 5 day weekend. But as much fun as I had dancing with the Latino kitchen staff from my restaurant at a fellow server's band gig on Friday (I couldn't look them in the eye today at work), eating real ramen for the first time on Saturday, and taking a last minute 3 a.m. bus to Williamsburg, VA for the Busch Gardens reunion Sunday morning, I'm going to spare you the details and instead randomly choose another topic from 642 Things to Write About.

#2: Rewrite your college application essay from today's point of view, answering the last question: "Is there anything else we should know?"

You should know the things I will give to CNU, and the things I will take from CNU. Let's start with the former.

I will give CNU a brand new diversity organization called S.A.I.L., which will allow your students to become trained diversity educators and travel to elementary, middle, and high schools around Newport News, teaching kids about breaking stereotypes. S.A.I.L. will be a lasting organization, continuing to thrive and affect the community even after I graduate. I will be a leader not only through my founding of S.A.I.L., but as a Resident Assistant for two years. Although I'll want to hit my hall of freshmen upside their heads with my sorority paddle, many will still have a close relationship with me for years to follow. Speaking of my sorority paddle, I will join Phi Mu Fraternity and be one of many advocates on campus for Greek Life. My sisters and I may be the reason that Einstein's always has a long line, but I'm not sorry for it. I will also give to CNU's music community by becoming musical director of The Newport Pearls a cappella group. We will sing at random times in the student union, causing traffic jams and nervous looks from visitors. Again, not sorry. Last, I will give to CNU academically. I won't present at Paidea or represent the university in any sort of academic competition, but I'll almost always go to class and get my assignments in on time. I won't major or minor in Religious Studies, but my Buddhism professor, Dr. Thompson, will still invite me to his house for dinner with his five other favorite graduating seniors at the end of my CNU career. Teachers like me.

This is what I will take from CNU: I'll take the visitor's parking spot often, and never get a ticket. I'll take a secret midnight climb to the top of the P. Trib Library when it was under construction, priding myself on being one of only a few students to ever set foot in the highest dome. I will take advantage of having the easiest senior year possible by working at Busch Gardens full time and only taking classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I'll take a LOT of bananas from Regattas. I'll take dozens of girlfriends from Phi Mu and The Pearls. I'll take away the knowledge that CNU only admits good-looking girls, but about 4 good-looking guys per class. I will take a degree that I may never use in life, as much as I love your Psychology department. I'll take lessons of time management, pride, humility, forgiveness, and patience...and those things I will use in life.

This is what you should know about me, should you accept me to your university. Notice that what I'll give is far more than what I'll take...you won't miss those bananas from Regattas, and I'm sure visitors found other parking spots just fine. The substantial things I take from CNU will be lessons that make me a woman whom you should be proud to have represent your university as an alumni. 

________________

Here are some pictures from the Busch Gardens reunion!

A full quartet of the Italy '09 Singers (originally an octet) made it to the reunion!

One of my best guy friends, and drummer at Busch Gardens, Smithers!

Myself, Michael (Italy '09), Jake (Italy '09), and Sam (Jake's wife/BG dancer for 5 or 6 years)

642 Things to Write About: #1

I'd guesstimate that there are about four people on this planet who know me better than I know myself. Truly. They can predict my reactions, explain what I really mean when I can't express myself well, and know what makes me excited, happy, angry, emotional, irrational, proud, crazy, sad, giggly, and reassured. Two of those people are my brother and Lindsay. For my birthday, which was about three weeks ago, Jim and Linds gave me a book that can only be described as the best gift ever (close second is the iPhone my parents are giving me in a week). This fantastic book is called 642 Things to Write About. Writing is one of the few ways I give my brain a break from all of the spastic-ness that's constantly reeling about up there, but sometimes I just don't know where to begin. Now, whenever I'm lacking inspiration, I can open up my lovely little book and just go! Thanks, Jim and Linds, for knowing me so well and picking the perfect gift! So today's topic is...
  
Write, in ridiculous detail, directions on how to get to your house.

Now, this all depends on where you're starting from. But let's assume that your bus/cab/car service/whatever just dropped you off in the middle of Times Square. You are standing on the southeast corner of 45th Street and 7th Avenue, right in front of the Swatch store that has blue, green, yellow, and other multicolored plastic watches on display. Walk south on 7th Avenue, towards the dancing people dressed up as Dora the Explorer, Mickey Mouse, and the like. The naked cowboy should be about fifteen feet to your right. When you get to 44th Street (Toys "R" Us on your left..hence the dancing cartoons), turn right and walk across the blue concrete with overwhelmed and tired tourists sitting down at the filthy metal tables scattered about. Avoid crazy taxi drivers as you cross Broadway (which intersects with 7th Avenue at about this point...don't get confused).

SIDE NOTE: Everything in New York City is an easy grid. Avenues go North and South, while streets go East and West. Broadway is just there to mess with you...it juts completely diagonal through everything. You can NEVER judge which way to go based on where Broadway is. It's a stupid street.

Back to where you are. You've managed to cross Broadway without getting trampled or hit by a taxi and are standing on the northwest corner of 44th and Broadway. Turn 90 degrees left and face the LEVI's store. On the wall across the street, you will see a giant picture of a handsome African-American male model on his back in the fetal position, modeling a pair of Levi's and nothing else. Walk towards him. Stop before you hit the wall. Turn right, staying on 44th street heading West, past the street stand that sells I <3 NY t-shirts and other questionable looking paraphernalia. You will walk past the famous family-style Italian restaurant called Carmines on your left, then past obnoxious yellow signs for Broadway's Rock of Ages. You're getting close to the train station you're aiming for after you pass the St. James Theatre, where my childhood friend, Adrienne Warren, is starring in a new show, Bring it On: The Musical (yep, I name-dropped just there).

About 20 feet past John's Pizza (my stepmom's favorite NYC pizzeria), enter the subway station that advertises the ACE trains in blue circular symbols. Buy a metro card (figure it out), and enter the turnstiles that have been touched by at least 200,000 people before you. Today. Immediately to your left, there will be two staircases going further down into the ground. Go down the left one. Wait for the A express train that will come on the left track in about 3-20 minutes, depending on how much God loves you that day. When it arrives, get on the very first car at the front of the train (don't worry, you're already positioned well to be right at the first car) and try to find a seat next to someone thin and well-groomed. It's a relatively lengthy ride.

Four stops later, once it's clear that no tourists are left in sight, get off at 168th street. You will exit through the doors on the left-hand side of the train and take the staircase that is closest to where you stepped off. This will lead you up to two cage-type turnstiles on the right. Choose one and exit. Take the stairs that lead to 169th street and St. Nicholas Avenue, northeast corner. When you emerge, don't be alarmed by the men sitting on buckets who will stare at you. Walk straight forward on St. Nicholas towards 170th Street. You will pass an out-of-place flower shop on your right and see a wine store on the corner. They know me there.

Turn right on 170th street, and walk towards the foul-smelling silver truck that has an illuminated sign displaying the word "CHIMI" in all capital letters. Try not to look at whatever they're frying as you pass. I think it's squirrel. Once you've passed the CHIMI truck on the left and the playground full of darling Hispanic children on the right, you'll be on my corner. 170th and Audubon.

I cannot disclose my exact location on this corner, be it North, South, East, or West, for fear of creepy internet stalkers (and you're probably one of them). But essentially, you have arrived. Call me when you're here.

Oh, and here are some pictures from my birthday!

Me, Lindsay (thanks for the book that inspired this blog!), Tess, and Lindsey

Miss NY girls!

Claire and Lindsey came in town from DC!

Dancing!

Spectacularity

Modern travel always amazes me. At 10:30 a.m., I'm riding the bus through New York City, sitting next to a 27-year-old sign language minister (I eavesdropped for that information, oddly enough) and across from a coke addict (and I'm not talking about the carbonated beverage), on my way to LaGuardia airport. Eleven hours later, though the time difference tries to shock my body into believing it's only been eight hours, I'm in Los Angeles, CA, cruising down Santa Monica Boulevard in a rented Mustang convertible. Wait, what?!

Think about the space between New York City and Los Angeles. The amount of people's lives that are being lived, the changes in climate, and the miles of different landscapes. Three THOUSAND miles. Yet, in a few short hours, I'm casually wearing the same clothes and carrying the same bag as I was when I was on the other side of the country. Maybe I let myself get too overwhelmed and amazed by ideas that I shouldn't...like the time I was telling someone that I think that the idea of having a baby is unfathomably miraculous. So, maybe a lot of people think that having a baby is unfathomably miraculous, but the point is that I was telling whoever it was that I never want to say "I want a family" just to have a nice little nuclear family. No, to me, wanting a child is motivated by the desire create a being- a live little human- who is a perfect mix of me and my husband (clearly I won't be having children any time soon with that husband clause in there). Rather than being "the next step," my future-kid will be a personalized gift to the world that represents a bond with someone who changes my life with love. Crap. I sound like a crazed-romantic. STILL. I don't think you should have babies just to have babies. They should be a representative of a love between two people. After explaining all of that to this person and excitedly finishing my thoughts with, "Isn't that just unreal that we have that opportunity to create such a lasting memory of our love with someone??", he/she/can't remember said, "Shannon, it's called reproduction." Debby downer.

Back from that tangent...I don't think we stop to soak in the wonder of the world often enough. Be it man-made, like the ability to state-hop as though we're just walking to the other side of the park, or nature/God-made, like creating new humans, life is CRAZY. Why do we get caught up in our steak not being cooked perfectly or whether or not we win a beauty pageant? The splendor of the world is way more fun to get caught up in. Having fun with all of the other little humans that were created out of love (or something...), giving way to new thoughts and ideas inspired by majestic scenery, humbling ourselves to remember how small we are as we fly over 3,000 miles of land that is full of millions of people who value their lives as much as you value your own, and not letting our minds become immune and idle to the intricate and enrapturing world around us. That is how we should aim to occupy our time and brain-power.

Think about something extraordinary, yet you often pass as ordinary, in your life. A connection with someone unexpected. A car ride where no matter how many red lights you hit, it's still faster than a horse and buggy. A star that seems out of place. A building that is 50 stories high and doesn't fall over. A song that gives you goosebumps...what are goosebumps anyway? How can emotion manifest itself on skin?

Don't get me wrong, I still like my steak cooked medium rare, but there are much greater, more spectacular, and more challenging things to think or care about. Life is pretty cool. Take an active part in enjoying it, pondering it, indulging in it, and appreciating it.

Excelsior

We often glamorize our dream jobs. If only we get hired, we will have endless energy to accomplish everything we've imagined, every day will be a perfect hair day, and nothing will bring us down. Yes, we know hard work is part of the game, but that hard work will feel easy since we are so passionate about the position. 

Let's get real.

I want to be Miss New York. This is my dream job. I came into this week 100% ready for that job. Not the job of presenting the perfect pageant package on Saturday night with a Victoria Secret-ready swimsuit and a gown would get perfect tens from the Fashion Police. I mean that I came into this week 100% ready to travel the state promoting multiculturalism, authenticity, and the Miss America Organization. I came ready to be a confidant for my fellow competitors, a student to the current Miss New York, and an example of strength and leadership to the Miss New York board. Nothing could possibly bring me down.

So why was I tearfully listening to Claire Buffie, Miss New York 2010 and a good friend of mine, encourage me to keep my chin up yesterday afternoon? Why was I so, what felt at the time, weak? I am a strong, no drama mama who can push through anything. I am a future Miss New York who is confident, motivated, and in no need of hand-holding. I am not the girl feebly sitting on an ottoman in the back of the theatre being comforted and challenged to stay in the game. But there I was, holding a ball of wet, white flakes of paper that only vaguely resembled a tissue, trying to get out of this black hole that my brain had been sucked into.

Three months ago, my mother was diagnosed with bladder cancer. Bad, progressed bladder cancer. I haven't shared this on my blog because I would never want to share something so personal that could be misconstrued as a need for attention on the social media circuit. But I share this now because of how it has affected my week here at Miss New York. Yesterday, as I saw the production start coming together, all I could think was "is this the last time my mom will see me in an exciting production? Will I make her proud if it is?" This deep pain at the thought of losing my mom manifested itself in insecurity that I wouldn't be enough on Saturday night. That I was wasting my time when there are much bigger, more important issues to be focusing on instead of a pageant. Looking back, these thoughts are useless, self-deprecating, and untrue. But at the time, all I wanted to do was go be with my mom, my family, and not in swimsuit trying to learn how to do a corkscrew modeling turn without falling over.

I tell you this story of momentary defeat, not to explain how I got back on track (which I am), but to compare this experience with the possibilities of this year- the year I may be Miss New York. Not every day will be perfect. I won't feel like a put-together, powerhouse Miss New York every single day. I may question my ability to push through my personal problems or the validity of my hard work. I may have to reach out for a hand to hold, as Claire lent me yesterday. And that's okay. We all have moments of weakness, even during a week where we are so determined to exemplify the definition of strength, or during a year where we are a spokeswoman for Project Empire, the Children's Miracle Network, our platform, and the Miss New York Organization. We can't possibly maintain that sort of stamina without the help of our fellow human beings. HUMAN beings. And no matter who you are- Miss New York or the President of the United states- you are human. The important thing is recognizing that humanity within us, so when our mental, physical, and emotional challenges flair up, we can humble out, get help, and get up.

"Excelsior" is the New York state motto, meaning "forever upward." I'm up. And I'm ready to be Miss New York on the good days and the bad ones.

Claire and I after night 1 of preliminaries

An Unexpected Afternoon

One week ago, I rolled out of bed for my weekly breakfast shift at the restaurant. Usually, I throw my hair up in a bun so that no one notices that I didn't wash it (hopefully) and run out the door in my gym clothes, prepared to go straight to Planet Fitness following my double at work. Last week, I had a strange amount of energy at 5:45 a.m., so I actually washed my hair, put on a sundress, and packed my gym clothes in a bag before walking (okay..running..a little late) out the door. I'm really glad I did.

You see, you never know who you're going to meet on any given day. I certainly did not expect my day to unfold as it did on that sunny Thursday in NYC. I made it to work in time to change out of my cute navy blue strapless dress and into my lovably androgynous uniform, set up the tables, and open the doors by 8 a.m....and wait. And wait. And wait. Was anyone interested in eating breakfast? It's the most important meal of the day, people! And I got my butt out of bed to serve it to you, so please show up. Over an hour after our doors "opened," and I say that lightly because no one actually opened them until 9 a.m., in strolled a tall, impeccably dressed young man with perfect brown hair and, lucky for me, a hankering for a cream cheese bagel. Perhaps a party of one wasn't going to pay my rent, but at least I could stop folding napkins for a minute and bring him a latte. One latte turned into three as he ate his food and I interrupted whatever he was doing on his computer in order to chat for an hour. His English accent was the icing on the cake as I listened to his reasons for visiting New York: he is a motivational speaker and life coach who was in town for 24 hours to meet with four top publishing companies regarding his book about dating. He helps women (and men...but not with this particular book) build confidence in their love lives and in themselves. Something told me he was good at it. Did I mention that I'm glad I washed my hair?

By the time he ordered his third latte, I decided that he enjoyed talking to me as much as I did him. But maybe I like to make myself feel good by imagining a handsome British guy who gives seminars to thousands of people every year would find a little waitress in Times Square interesting. Why not pretend for the sake of a good story? The time came for him to get to his morning meeting, so I brought him his check and wished him the best of luck. He suggested we exchange information so we can meet up next time he's in New York, so I gave him my email address thinking to myself "Well, wouldn't that be nice...but I'm about 95% certain I'll never see this chap again." And off he went.

Three and a half hours later, I'm a sweaty mess in the upstairs corner of our restaurant where the A.C. decided to take a nap and leave me with seven needy tables and a shiny forehead. Real cute. My lunch shift was in full swing, my makeup completely erased, and my head spinning like this: "carbonara...tuna...rare...no artichokes...British boy...2 veg 1 seafood...Diet Coke...or was it regular...Get the Guy...refill water...add mushrooms...offer them pepper...I liked his vest." As I was pouring water for table 43, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Not now, busboy. Can't you see I'm busy? He tapped me again. I glanced over my shoulder to shoot the busboy a "give me just a second" look and...

HOLY CRAP. IT'S HIM.

Trying not to pour the rest of the water all over my poor customer's lap, I did nothing but look surprised before Matthew (that's his name, by the way) quickly said, "Come find me for 30 seconds when you get a moment." Wait, what? I thought I'd have to fly to London to see the kid again, and here he was back in the restaurant.

I hastily finished what I was doing and found him standing at the top of the stairs like freaking Prince Charming, so I rushed him down to the kitchen with me, where I needed to fire a food ticket. I could see my managers and a few coworkers watching curiously (and totally ready to make fun of me afterwards) as he asked what time I got off work. He had one more meeting that would end at 4, then had to catch his car to the airport by 6:30. "Could we hang out in that small window of time?" he wanted to know. He must have really liked his cream cheese bagel.

This is LITERALLY what happened after we made fun of yoga.

At 4 o'clock, we met next door to the restaurant and walked to Bryant Park to take advantage of the beautiful weather and the 2 1/2 hours we had before he flew to another continent. As during breakfast, our friendship connected immediately, and we laughed hysterically at our disdain for yoga (only to ironically get kicked out of our grassy spot 30 minutes later so that 200 people could take a free yoga class on the lawn) and about numerous other topics that I can't remember. All I know is that we laughed a LOT. And I made fun of him the entire time for being a fancy life coach- likely to be famous within the next year (though I'm not privy to reveal the details)- and how he won't be seen with lowly girls like me in the near future. He assured me that if a picture of us surfaced, his reputation would definitely take a hit. I'm glad he was as sarcastic as I am. Again, I have no shame in boosting my own confidence.

In the short time we spent getting to know one another, one thing he said really resonated with me. Actually, much of what he said resonated with me, but this one statement stood out. When I asked how he accomplished so much at such a young age, he said something along these lines: "I never tried to accomplish this or that. I just knew how I wanted to live, and lived that way. I'm still living that way. When you know what you want your life to be like, you just live as though it's already that way. Everything else will just happen." He didn't have to try to be successful, because to him, there was no other option but to work in a field he was passionate about and not partake in a mundane existence. What an extraordinary mindset. I've grown up hearing "don't try, just do" from my mom, but the way he exemplified that mantra sparked a new excitement within me. Explaining this ideal on paper...well, computer screen...is difficult. But we have to stop thinking about how we want to live in contrast to how we are currently living, because that means that there is the option of living in a way other than how we desire (that way being our current condition). If there is no other option, then we can only live how we want to live- which means that we must be currently living that way, whether there are tangible accomplishments reflecting that desired life or not. Those tangible things will come. We choose our life's puzzle, easily creating the borders of how we live. The rest of the pieces will fill in in due time. I'm sure that much of that was hard to grasp, but the point is this: live as though mediocrity is not an option. If it's not an option, it will not appear. In its place will be passion, energy, creativity, and pioneering.

My new friend hopped in a car at 6:30 and is now back in London (or whatever city he's in on any given day for his numerous projects), leaving me with plenty to think about and pleasantly content after a day of laughter and deep thought. I'll probably never see him again, but the moral of the story is this: wash your hair daily. KIDDING. It's that we can affect other people's lives in one afternoon. In one conversation. In one sentence. Live a life you're proud of, a life you can share with a stranger you meet at breakfast. You may not be instant friends with everyone you meet as Matthew and I were, but every once in while, you'll be able to spark excitement in the heart of someone who speaks your same language.

On another note...Sunday night, I went to the launch party of TWELV Magazine to support our Miss New York co-host, Hunt Ethridge, on his work with this awesome, up-and-coming publication! I encourage everyone to go buy a copy of TWELV :)

My beautiful Miss New York roommate- Miss Gotham City, Acacia Courtney

Bronx, Metropolitan, Gotham City

Miss NY Kenn Berry Scholarship Essay: What is Spirit within the Miss America Organization?

I’ve never been a cheerleader. I don’t have the coordination to form any sort of human pyramid, nor vocal chords strong enough for hourless chanting. Growing up, however, those peppy and perfectly energized girls shaped my idea of “spirit.” For many of us, that perception may have carried over into adulthood, leading us to believe that people with the most spirit have the bubbliest personalities and talk the loudest about their beliefs. They are the shining lights at the top of those metaphorical human pyramids formed in workplaces, college classrooms, and the like.

At Miss VA 2008...

At Miss VA 2011...guess I haven't changed THAT much. ;)

I began to recognize the flaws in my original definition of spirit during my first year competing in the Miss America Organization. I was 19 years old, one of the youngest at the state competition, and absolutely clueless. Arriving with no expectation of winning and no expectations of my fellow participants, I didn’t realize how many of the older girls competing- the veterans who had already learned about the spirit of the Miss America Organization- would change my entire perception on spirit and leadership in a few short days. I listened to them talk about their goals for breaking pageant stereotypes, their love for the MAO, and how much the crown didn’t matter. To back up their words, these women instilled within me confidence and excitement during a week that can often be intimidating and overwhelming for a newcomer. I left that pageant week making the top 10, but more importantly, realizing that the spirit of the Miss America Organization had nothing to do with what happened onstage. It was about how those women treated me so kindly when no board members were watching. How they had true discussions about role modeling. How they were passionate without needing attention to fuel their actions. How they so surely believed in the impact we can have as titleholders.

I wanted to be like them.

Fast-forward to now. Here I am, the very oldest girl competing at Miss New York. About to turn 24. Over the hill. Am I worthy or capable of being the same example of unpronounced spirit that those women were to me four years ago? Yes. Because years later, I get it. I feel it. I want to share it. Miss America is about connecting with people, proving you can make a difference by giving your soul to a cause, changing the minds of pageant critics through positive choices and genuine interactions, and representing a dream of all little girls that began on the boardwalk of Atlantic City in 1921. I have shivers thinking that little old me can possibly stand for all of that. But it’s in my spirit. A spirit that does not require a crown or the attention at the top of the pyramid, rather requires a heart of kindness, motivation, integrity, passion, and belief in a dream. Miss America has instilled in me that spirit, and I will actively pay it forward for the rest of my life.

Men in Black 3 Premiere

Sometimes I have to disregard my grandma-type instincts that urge me to stay home most nights to clean and go to bed early in order to enjoy the fact that I am 23 and living in the most exciting city in the world. Of course, I say that on the Saturday night of Memorial Day weekend having just finished all of the dishes and ready for a quiet evening with me, myself, and I (and the loud Latino music blaring on the street beneath me). My excuse is that I had a big night with Lindsay, Tommy, and Josh last night, so tonight is allowed to be a quiet one. I know you may be thinking, why not two nights in a row? But please, let's not ask too much of me.

Focusing on the nights that I haven't been in my PJs by 8:30p.m....Wednesday was one of those nights. My friend invited me to the Men in Black 3 premiere at Lincoln Center, followed by the after party on the Intrepid aircraft carrier. I hesitated only for a moment as I fought with my practical self that protested, "Shannon, you work breakfast on Thursday. You need to be in bed by 11 on Wednesday." NO. Going to a party on an aircraft carrier with celebrities and socialites is a once in a lifetime...well, hopefully more...experience. I can get five hours of sleep and survive. After ignoring my inner reprimand, I accepted the invitation and put on a dress and heels following my day at the attorney's office. I even put on fake eyelashes. Seriously time to look good. You never know if Will Smith would see me and decide he absolutely needed to know who I was. (Spoiler alert: That didn't happen).

With Ricky after the movie. Glad he was ready.

Two glasses of Chardonnay at Luce, a restaurant right next to the theatre, was the perfect beginning to the evening. Next came the actual movie itself, which was really funny and entertaining (that's about as good as I get when it comes to my movie-reviewing skills). I think Will Smith is absolutely hilarious, and he did not let me down. While most people got on the charter bus that transported guests to the Intrepid after the movie, I instead hopped in the Jaguar with Ricky and his family to enjoy the short ride over to the ship. Riding in a Jag just makes life a little more fun, don't you think?

Flight Deck overlooking NYC. Unreal.

The after party was incredible. Insane. Gorgeous. Posh. Stunning. Outrageous. I need more words, but they don't exist. Every party needs to take place on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. Every single one. The best looking food I've ever seen- Chinese, pizza, sandwiches, chocolate donuts, and everything else in the world that I can't eat on my Miss New York diet- stared at me the whole night as I wandered around wondering who just walked past me that is probably famous but I'd never know because I am the WORST at recognizing or knowing who famous people are. As I aimlessly strolled around with my wine glass in one hand and camera in the other, I got a few random compliments on my backless yellow dress, so that certainly made me happy. Congratulating myself on my wardrobe selection (what, exactly, is premiere-wear?), I followed the crowd to the middle of the ship for fireworks around 10:15, followed by a super fun performance by Pit Bull. For those of you who don't know who Pit Bull is or why anyone would want to be referred to as a canine, he's one of the top rapper/singers out there at the moment. His biggest hit is probably Give Me Everything (give me everyyyything tonight, for all we know, we might not get tomorrowww...you've heard it, trust me), but he also sang the theme song for Men in Black 3. Hence the performance. After Pit Bull's energetic few songs (that man had to have burned 800 calories in 25 minutes), I tried to sweet talk a guard into letting me into the VIP section where I saw Dr. Oz and Nicole Scherzinger mulling about, but unfortunately batting my fake eyelashes did not seem to work. Or maybe he just couldn't see them through his black sunglasses that he was wearing at 11 o'clock at night. You are NOT auditioning for Men in Black, sir. Take off the shades.

As most things do, it all worked out for the better because not five minutes after I was rejected by the man in black wannabe, Will Smith took the stage for a surprise performance!! The VIP section was in the back, so I was beyond glad to be in the front, not 50 feet from Will Smith, accompanied by both of his kids. I was in heaven as I did the white girl bounce to the Men in Black anthem, Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and Summertime. He is SO good. So, so good. And so, so good-looking. Had to throw it out there. That is one hot dad. I'm sure he saw me in the audience and the only reason he didn't approach me later is because he was so intimidated, but that's alright. He's not the first guy that's happened to.

Nicole and me (awful picture of me, but still- so fun!)

Have no fear, if my eyelashes couldn't get me into the VIP section, Ricky's connections could. The gates parted for us once his parents waved us in. Yeah, they were already in there chatting up Tommy Lee Jones. I guess you have to be a little more powerful than a waitress who lives in the Heights to hang with the big wigs. I didn't find Dr. Oz to get a picture for my mom (sorry, Mom!), but I did get to chat with Nicole Scherzinger (lead singer of The Pussy Cat Dolls/X Factor judge) for a second. She really impressed me. I told her about Miss New York, and she gave me a wonderful little speech about being a role model and how important it is to be confident figureheads for younger girls. I really respect the fact that she doesn't want to rest on being beautiful, which she truly is. Needless to say, I'm definitely a big fan.

The night winded down a little after midnight, so we headed out right behind the boys of One Direction (apparently they are a wildly popular boy band these days...I've only vaguely heard of them. Should have gotten one of their autographs. Sixteen's not too young for me, right?) and Alice Eve (star of "Out of My League"/etc.)...just rollin' with the celebs. I made it home by 1, but couldn't fall asleep until after 3. So much for a decent night's sleep. I made it through breakfast/lunch the next day with a surprising amount of energy, though, and I'm still here to speak of it. I don't regret that night in the least! I live in NYC- I have to take advantage of events that only happen here! Besides, every girl needs an excuse to dress up once in a while. Oh wait, I already have my excuse...I do pageants. I guess I give myself a lot of excuses to dress up.

Speaking of pageants, Miss New York is 3 weeks from tonight! Gulp.